Grand Tour Polaroids
by Irbis
Summary: Sabretooth has a new vic waiting in Albany, NY, and decides to take a scenic route. Ch6: The Wedding.
1. Home

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 1**

**Home**

It was 6 sharp and Creed took advantage of the lack of cars at this early hour to speed through the interstate. Another half an hour and he'd be home eating a 'Portuguese Omelette'. His stomach grumbled noisily at the idea of food and he sped some more. The thought of the omelette made him smile. Now, more than ever, he was happy for his insight when he had decided not to kill Irbis. She cooked very well – much better than the only other woman he had ever kept in his home, Birdy – and she seemed to work extra hard on preparing meals whenever he repeated the initial dosage or when he complimented her recipes. Just the thought of spending a few days in his little Paradise and, for once, being properly waited on immediately sent him into the best of moods.

'Portuguese Omelette'! He always had to smirk whenever he remembered how he had picked on her and she had fixed him that disgusting Spanish egg recipe. He liked her guts. He liked her style. But most of all, he liked how she always seemed to know when to get out of his hair. That was a rare skill, and one that would keep her alive and unhurt for a long time.

As he reached Wausau, he was already thinking up more topics that could annoy her. He liked to see her pent up her rage and set her jaw with that stubborn promise of a swift vengeance. It was childish… But who cared? He was having fun! Even if she could find a way to call it even, he was still having fun. And it was particularly fun when he won. It had only happened once. She had turned around, interrupted him and told him up front 'O.K., I give up; you win. All right?" He hadn't really been expecting that and his surprise had shown, followed by a victorious grin. And then she had laughed! Well not really laughed out loud – she didn't do that – but it was that kind of supressed laugh that could almost look like a chuckle although not quite. Plus the way she glanced at him playfully, followed by a slight coy flush of the cheeks. It was as if she was inviting him to press on with the game. Hell, she was constantly inviting him to keep on nagging her.

That had been when he had once more admitted that the girl was just plain strange. Weird, even. But, hey, for as long as she kept him happy, who was he to complain, right?

With this in mind, he pulled off the road and parked his bike in front of the garage. He opened the garage to put it safely inside and his good mood immediately fell to the ground. The mini-van he had given Irbis was nowhere to be seen. He looked at his watch: it was 6.32 am. Where the hell could the girl be at this hour in the morning? He regretted having given her the car and promised himself that from now on she'd have to walk everywhere!

He parked the bike and went in. The fridge was well stocked and, since he was starving from driving all night long without as much as a little snack, he fixed his own breakfast while trying to guess where Irbis might have gone. She had spent the night in the house, that was obvious, and she had had breakfast not that long ago, too. He guessed she had left sometime around 6 or 6.15. But where to? There were no shops open at that hour.

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He was napping in the couch when he heard the mini-van's engine. He immediately woke up and sprang to his feet. He went to the kitchen and placed himself facing the door to the garage. It was past 9. He heard her stop the car and get out to close the garage door. She'd know he was there, he thought to himself, as soon as she laid eyes on his bike. He heard her open the car's door and pull things down. The scent of herbs, cheese and blood among other things made him cock an eyebrow, but soon she was opening the door to the kitchen, and giving out a yell at the same time as she dropped a large basket.

"Mr. Creed?"

"Quit the dumb questions already an' tell me where the Hell ya've been."

"I… I went to market."

And she stooped to pick up the basket she had dropped.

"What market? There ain't no market in Wausau!"

"It's a summer market, on Thursdays, from July to September." She brought the basket and a few bags to the kitchen table and started putting things away. "It opens at half past seven, but I always leave de house around six am because I found out dis farm, twenty minutes away from Wausau, where I buy fresh milk and eggs; and rabbits and chickens, too. Den on Thursdays I stop by de market and buy some fruit, herbs, and anything else I think may be necessary."

He was looking at her, frowning but in silence and she decided she should say something else to avoid that stressed silence.

"I'm sorry. I suppose I should have left a note, in case you returned. Is dere something you'd like me to do? Would you like me to fix something for you to eat? Dere is a nice cool dessert in de freezer…"

"What's with yar speech?"

"I beg your pardon?"

" 'I beg yar pardon'? Where the hell d'ya learn ta talk like that? What happened ta the problems in speaking and understanding English?"

He noticed that her shoulders slumped somewhat and that her features became suddenly tired.

"I've been studying English in de last weeks. I used to have excellent marks in English classes, but I had always had de opportunity to use a dictionary and to have time to check my sentences… I wasn't used to actually speaking English. But I thought it was easy enough to recover, after some study."

"Oh, yeah? Well, let me tell ya, ya're still miles away from getting it right!"

She lowered her head and for a moment he thought she was going to cry, which would have been well done: teach her to go holidaying instead of fixing his breakfast! But instead, she picked up a piece of ham wrapped in brown paper and turned to place it in the fridge; then she opened the freezer and took out a bowl filled with something that looked like ice-cream.

"It's made wid milk, rum and nuts… It's very tasty when it's covered wid hot chocolate. Would you like me to fix you some scoops or would you rather have it after lunch?"

"After lunch. I'm goin' out an' ya better have this mess all cleaned up when I get back."

He turned around and entered the garage, avoiding kicking a basket that stood in his way because of the eggs standing on top of the apples, which he knew would be needed for the next day's breakfast.

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It was almost ten pm and Creed was wandering through his backyard, enjoying being away from anyone else. You could almost forget you were in a city, amidst the towering trees. But Creed wasn't there to forget anything; he was planning his next hit, which should take place in a few days. And he was also trying to gather some patience before going in and having a little chat with Irbis.

Irbis had been acting in a strange way all day long. First off, her speech had got very weird since he'd last been there: sometimes she spoke like a British posh, and then all of a sudden she'd fall into her original broken English, or would mix British and American words and pronunciations in a single sentence. Then she was also sighing more often. She was sighing even during meal times, and she had only done that in those first times, before that Fernandez guy had set his hounds on her. She'd better not be going back to her suicidal craze, Creed growled, he was enjoying her work and he was not going to let her ruin it. Not to mention he had plans for her, and she'd better be in the right mood to pull them off.

He finished his cigar and went back to the house, feeling himself filled with patience and understanding. She was in the living room, looking at the TV but not really watching the programme. Nevertheless, he waited for the programme to end before starting in the smoothest way he could.

"So… Irbis. What's the problem?"

"Problem?"

"Ya're depressed again, if ya ain't noticed yet, and ya gonna tell me why."

She was silent for a while, and Creed was glad he was so patient that night. She remained silent for some time more.

"I'm waitin' fer an answer, girl, an' I'd rather get it today!"

She sighed – Oh, the unavoidable sigh! – and once more he was pleased with his patience.

"I am sorry, Mr. Creed. But… It's hard to explain, I'm afraid. It's just…"

There was a long pause until Creed somehow changed a low growl into an apparent throat cleaning. Irbis held her breath for a moment before letting out in one go.

"I'm not contented. I know I should be. I know any oder person in my place would be thanking for dis second chance. But…" She shook her head without looking at him. "I just can't make myself happy wid dis. Dis emptiness. I feel like dere's no point in anything. Everything's pointless. And I feel so empty! Not just empty; I feel… I feel down, trapped, caged, broken, dispirited…"

"Now there's a long list. Guess ya filled yarself up with words with all that studying, eh?"

She looked at floor with depressed eyes but there was also a hint of rebellion the way she breathed out forcefully.

"Look, girl, ya gotta lighten up! Ya're safe in this place."

"Oh yes! Quite safe. De only place where I can possibly be safe… or better yet, de only place where I'll be as much safe as my situation can allow."

Creed didn't like her intonation, but held on to his incredible one-night understanding and ignored it.

"It ain't like ya're locked up in the house. Ya can go out in town whenever ya want. I gave ya a car, didn't I?"

She shook her head but didn't look at him.

"And where can I go? To de parks? I've been to all. To libraries and book stores? I've been through dem all. To pubs and bars and discos? To cinemas? To de theatre? To shopping centres?" She was definitely getting ready to burst, when she looked at him, but there was also a moisture that predicted tears in a near future. "Dis is a prison, Mr. Creed, a nice looking prison, but a prison nonedeless. You may have offered me an excellent business, which you did, I'm fully aware of dat; but Wausau must be my… my gold birdcage. De one place I can't leave for fear of being discovered and taken in for testing and experimenting on."

He didn't argue. She was stubborn and wouldn't have accepted any arguments against her reasons, so he just added this information she had given him to the image he had been making of her. She was stubborn, independent and proud. She wasn't easily scared or frightened but was terribly insecure; however, she managed to hide it very well, unless her weak points were pointed out, that is. She was smart, learned fast, and knew how to deal with his difficult temper and, probably, with most anyone's temper. She was very cool and probably thought things two and three times before deciding on a course of action. She must be good at manipulating, although she hadn't tried it on him yet, but she also made a point of sincerity, honesty and professionalism. She was easily depressed, which turned her into a suicide danger. She had no problems killing people when she was being attacked and in the heat of the moment, but would rather stay clear of actual violence after recovering her cold blood. He frowned. She probably didn't like to get involved in things. And, to crown it all, she didn't like feeling trapped. He couldn't blame her on that last one, though, as he himself loved his freedom of movement above pretty much anything.

But at least he knew what the problem was: she felt she would be safe for as long as she didn't go out of the rural out-of-the-way Wausau. That idea made her feel trapped and, therefore, made her depressed, although not as passively as in June, when he had first brought her in. That pleased him: he was being successful in his quest to infuse some life into the woman. But not enough yet; as angry as she might be, she was still very much depressed. Question was: Would her anger break up and leave her suicidal again? That possibility bothered him. He had got an excellent house keeper and he didn't want to lose her just because of a ridiculous reason such as a 'oh, I feel trapped'!

"So, whaddya thinkin' 'bout doing?"

"I don't understand. What am I thinking doing about what?"

"Last time ya were depressed ya wanted ta kill yerself! So what ya gonna do now that ya're depressed again?"

She frowned and then shrugged, with a small annoyed pout.

"Ya gonna try an' kill yerself again?"

"I can't. We've got a contract, remember?"

"Huh?"

She froze for a second; then she sighed annoyedly and went to the study. Creed followed her and saw her pick up a sheet of paper which she then gave him. He whistled as he started reading it. Boy, was this girl professional! She had actually written down the conditions on both parties' sides; and there it was: he would not abuse her verbally, physically, or sexually and she would fulfil all her job functions (which were listed above in great detail). Furthermore, she would not attempt to take her own life unless the contract was breached by the other party, namely her employer, Mr. Creed, also known as Sabretooth or Mr. Jekyll.

"I see… so ya can't kill yerself unless I break my side o' the deal, eh?"

He chuckled. This was amusing! No one had ever bothered to write down a full contract like this with him. The girl may be weird, but she was fun. Plus, he didn't have to bother about her committing suicide and leaving his house unkept again. He returned the paper to her.

"By the way, how's yar finance gettin' by?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Money! How much money d'ya got around? Did ya spend all your subsidies already?"

She hesitated before sighing.

"I've got some economies, if you must know."

"Right. I bet that means ya got close to nothin'. So, tell me, whadd'ya say 'bout some extra money, huh?"

She frowned, suspicious, and didn't say anything.

"Ya see, I'm goin' ta this place over in Albany. It's a really fancy thing, an' I was thinkin' 'bout takin' a nice lookin' woman just fer the sights an' all. So I was thinkin' ta myself: wonder if Irbis'd like ta go out on some paid holiday of sorts? So, whadd'ya say, huh?"

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Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	2. The Grand Tour

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 2**

**The Grand Tour**

"Rise an' shine! An' get yar ass off the bed: we're leavin'."

Irbis sat up in bed, clutching the bed covers and her eyes wide with confusion. The sun wasn't up yet.

"Get up an' get dressed. I'm hungry."

He left and she got up and fixed herself up. Then she went down and got breakfast ready for them both: scrambled eggs and bacon for him, milk and bread with butter for her. While she cooked, he came down with a backpack on his shoulder and threw it down at the door to the garage.

"Hurry up eatin' and cleanin' the kitchen. I wanna leave early." He ate a forkful of eggs before taking out a set of documents and placing them on the table. "When I brought ya those documents under the name o' Maria Irbis, I kept these with me. So, while ya're in Wausau, I'm Jekyll and ya're Irbis; when we leave Wausau, I'm Victor Creed and you are…" he looked at the name on the ID card, "Isabel Martins."

She blinked in disbelief.

"Isabel… Martins?"

She picked up the document set – ID, driver's license, Portuguese passport and immigration papers – and stared.

"I don't understand…"

"Look, it's safer fer ya ta have one identity while ya're here, but a different one when ya go somewhere else. It's very simple. Now hurry up!"

It was a quarter to six in the morning when Creed securely closed the doors of the house and took off in his Land Rover, where Irbis had just placed her single bag. She had packed only the essentials for a week, keeping in mind her boss's warning that he wanted to travel as light as possible. The man himself was bringing only one bag, too.

Creed drove through fields, grazing meadows filled with milk cows, and woods. He had brought several music CDs, and whenever he got bored with the radio he'd switch to his own music. Irbis spent the whole journey as quiet as a mouse; and although she looked at the passing landscape as eagerly as a little girl on her first journey, she never once said a word. The first time she spoke, they were closing in on their destiny, even if she didn't know what it was.

"Dere's water dere… Is dat de sea? It can't be…"

"'Course it can't be! The sea? We're hundreds o' miles away from ANY sea, stupid! That's the Michigan Lake, the biggest o' the five Great Lakes."

Creed looked at his watch. It was 10:32. Another ten minutes and they'd be in Chicago. Irbis seemed to be sulking. He figured he might as well spend the day in Chicago and get some basic U.S. geography inside the girl's head. The sea! How ignorant could one get? First thing he did was get himself to a hotel near the Navy Pier Centre and book two rooms. Then he took her shopping.

Irbis was fidgety. When he had told her he was taking her shopping before lunch, she had made an expression as if he had told her he was going to use her as a punching bag. That had annoyed Creed. Did the girl think he didn't have any fashion sense? Just because he didn't like crowded places filled with stuck up Barbie dolls and affected mama's-boys, it didn't mean he didn't like to dress well. Even if it meant having to go to such places and not kill everyone in them. On the other hand, he wasn't so sure about the girl's fashion sense.

So he took her shopping.

"Cocktail dress?"

"Why are ya repeatin' what I just said? Ya a parrot or somethin'?" She swallowed and blushed, and Creed had a sudden bad feeling. "Ya knows what a cocktail dress is, right?"

She blushed harder and he rolled his eyes.

"It… it's for… for… night parties. Rich people parties."

She looked at him uncertainly, trying to make sure she had said the right answer. The fact that he didn't call her stupid reassured her somewhat and she worked up her courage to say something else.

"Why do I need a cocktail dress?"

"I told ya, I needs a date ta take to a fancy place. And I ain't feelin' like takin' somebody who don't knows nothin' of what's happenin' an' may do somethin' ta ruin my show. An' since I decided ta take ya, ya're gonna need a fancy dress."

He moved through the shop eyeing the dresses and an attendant came up to him.

"Good morning. Can I help you, sir?"

"I don't need yer help fer nothin', lady; but while ya're here, make yerself useful an' fix some cocktail dresses fer the girl ta try on."

The woman, a flashy blonde expertly made up, measured Irbis with a belittling look and said she had something that might fit the young lady. Irbis sighed and felt completely out of place in her jeans and t-shirt. The attendant came back with three dresses in black, dark blue and dark green. Fortunately, and she sighed happily, Creed didn't like any of them. He wanted something flashier. Red. When the attendant didn't look prompt enough to satisfy his wishes he grunted and walked away.

"Come on, girl. We goin' ta the next shop."

Irbis dragged herself behind him. Flashy red cocktail dresses weren't exactly something her style. But how could she escape the guy's wishes? Especially since he had chosen to take her and was paying for the dress and accessories. And paying her for the job of accompanying him, too. Then, just as he was about to enter a new shop, she looked to the shops opposite and saw her way out.

"Mr. Creed…" She shyly tugged his arm.

"What?"

"Ah… I… before you… we… ah… buy a dress, could we… I. Could I go to a beauty saloon?"

He narrowed his eyes and glanced around, immediately spotting Victoria's Beauty Secrets Saloon.

"Beauty saloon?"

She shook her head vigorously. And quickly added with a voice as vehement as she could muster:

"I really do need to go to one."

He rolled his eyes. Women and their manicures and pedicures and skincures and what not. But he guessed it took more than just a dress to make her look right for the place he was going.

"Fine. I'll be back ta pick ya up in two hours."

"Four."

"What the hell ya gonna do that takes four hours?"

She looked at him as if he was the most clueless man on Earth.

"I should take at least an entire morning to do a proper thing, and I'm not even thinking about cutting and arranging my hair. And I am going to have to wait for my turn before dey can start working on me. Dat means it's going to take at least four hours for de most basic treatment."

Creed growled in annoyance. Then he grabbed Irbis's wrist and dragged her to the saloon. The asphyxiating stench of perfumes and aromatic creams and lotions made him stagger when he burst into the reception area.

"Good morning."

He looked at the curly haired brunette with the heavy make up and asked for the owner or manager or whoever was running the show.

"I'm the owner." A matronly looking blonde entered the reception and looked at him, unimpressed. "Is something the matter?"

"Yeah. See this kid?" And he pulled Irbis till she was in front of him, facing the woman. "I want her fixed from head ta toe. Now."

The woman frowned and didn't even bother glancing at Irbis.

"I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment first."

"I'm making one right now, lady." He growled. "I'll be back in three hours. And I'm only payin' if I thinks ya did a job good enough."

"Mister…"

But Creed turned his back on the woman. Irbis thought she was going to burst from embarrassment. In the meantime, Creed had pulled down the carefully encased price list from the wall and was checking the prices.

"You can't come in here and tell me what to…"

But Creed wasn't paying the angry woman any attention and cut her off matter of factly.

"As I was sayin', I'll be back in three hours. I'll pay fer the girl's full treatment only if I thinks ya did a proper job. Have a nice day."

He threw the small case over his shoulder and walked away, ignoring the breaking glass.

"What a nut case! I'm calling the police."

Irbis froze when she heard the brunette and looked up, panicking. Before she could stop herself, she heard her frightened voice:

"No, please. No."

The two women stopped and looked at her. The manager narrowed her eyes as if trying to see through her and Irbis looked to the floor, not knowing what to do or say.

"How old are you? And what does that man have to do with you?"

Irbis swallowed and looked at the manager. She had better give a good story now, or she'd be in so much trouble.

"I… I work for him. I'm his… his house keeper. He… he needs me in a party. A fancy party. To… to… what is de word? Ah… Organize… Oversee. Oversee things. I'm going to oversee de organization of a fancy party. And he wants me to… to dress up. And to fix myself up, too. So… Dere isn't much time free, I mean, I haven't got much… But he's very rich. And excentric, too. Very excentric. But he'll pay you very well if you do what he says. Very well."

The blonde was looking at her with a dubious expression, but she didn't know what else to say so she just nodded and repeated "very well".

"How old are you?"

"Twenty years old. I'll be twenty-one in October."

The girl's answer was the only sincere thing that she had said, the woman decided. She shook her head. It was obvious the girl would be the one paying for any bad service on her establishment's part.

"Mei Lee. Delilah. Cathy." She walked into the saloon and the brunette lead Irbis behind. "We have an emergency. This young lady needs a full treatment, and she must be ready in three hours. Take her inside and start working on her."

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Creed left the restaurant conscious of Irbis's presence trailing behind him. He had ended up giving the women at the saloon three hours and a half, and he still had had to wait a few minutes. Fortunately, Irbis had come out looking great. Her unfortunately short nails had been painted in a neutral but glossy pink tone and her hands' skin seemed whiter and softer. Likewise, the skin of her face was smoother and her eyebrows fashionably trimmed. She also had a very slight make-up. Her long hair had been pruned and her slightly wavy strands had been straightened in a sophisticated look. His pleasure with her new look had weathered a bit during lunch, though.

While enjoying his first rate lunch in a five star restaurant overlooking the Navy Pier Centre, Creed had realized that the look simply didn't fit the girl's awkwardness, and she still didn't have a dress to wear. He fleetingly wondered just what type of granny dress would suit the kid's shyness and clumsiness, but didn't stop to consider the idea seriously. On the other hand, Irbis seemed to grow slightly more at ease by the time she reached the dessert, so he soon forgot the matter altogether. Besides, Albany was still four or five days away. There was time.

After lunch, Creed wouldn't even dream of getting himself inside clothes shops, but he didn't feel like driving either. So he decided to teach the kid some useful stuff about the U.S.A.. He first stressed that there were no seas inside the country, then swiftly went through all the existing states, relating them to basic characteristics which they had in common. Fifteen minutes later, wandering through the almost empty Grant Park, near the Navy Pier, Creed was back to Chicago. At this point, Irbis surprised him and aptly mentioned Al Capone as one of the famous personalities to have lived in Chicago. She even associated the guy to the right fashion of striped suits and hats, but then she messed it all up by asking if the man had truly existed or if he was just a Hollywood legend.

"Ya're such a dumbass, girl! 'Course Al Capone existed!"

"Oh." Irbis blushed, as it was a habit whenever she did or said something wrong. "So… he really was de chief of all de gangsters in Chicago in de beginning off de century, hun?"

Creed rolled his eyes and sat on a bench by the Lake's quiet waters.

"Ya really don't know nothin' at all, do ya, kid? Hell, I ain't no knows-it-all wise guy, an' even I knows the basic stuff." Creed pulled out a cigar and lit it up while Irbis remained standing, an uncomfortable expression on her face making her hands and fingers fidget quietly. "Gangsters back then weren't no different from today's bad guys, girl. There ain't no 'big chief' nowhere. Not now, an' not then."

"But I thought…" Irbis's low voice didn't have a chance to go far since Creed hadn't finished his lesson.

"Try an' stop thinkin' fer a bit, will ya? It don't look like it's yer strong point. First ya thinks there's a sea in the middle o' the States, an' now ya're thinkin' Al Capone was the King o' Gangsters. Give it a rest an' listen! Maybe ya'll learn somethin'. Like keepin' yar mouth shut."

She was still standing, her face flushed. Creed roughly told her to sit down. He took the time to enjoy a few puffs from his cigar before explaining that yes, Al Capone had been one of the big fish. Hell, he'd been the biggest fish for some time.

"Thing is, there's always someone ready ta take the big boss's place the moment he shows a weakness. It's a freakin' jungle, out here. An' that's exactly what happened: Al Capone found the right weaknesses an' played his game, got ta the top, stuck around fer a bit, an' then bit the dust like everyone else. End o' story."

Creed looked down at Irbis, who was looking less affected by her previous cultural blunders. She was watching him attentively.

"Ain't sayin' the guy didn't have guts, mind ya. But there's a lot o' crap people say 'bout the man that ain't got no sense. And ya know why?"

Irbis shuddered with the unexpected question and immediately straightened herself to give an answer, which once more surprised Creed.

"To support de legend. It's… ah… It's… publicity? I'm not sure if dat's the word…"

"Yeah, publicity. Turned a criminal inta some sort o' hero an' fed these brain-dead sheep as many stories as there's heads ta think 'em up. Half o' what they says in them movies an' books an' stuff is all bogus, an' that's the truth."

Creed watched her as she frowned very slightly and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then caught herself, blushing as he cocked an eyebrow.

"What?"

She swallowed and started shaking her head, only to stop nervously and gaze at him as if expecting a reprimand. Seeing her nervousness, Creed growled almost inaudibly and Irbis actually stopped breathing for a moment.

"I… I was just… I thought… Do you know? De truth. Do you know de truth about Al Capone? De reality behind all de stories?"

She shifted uncomfortably under his grin, her hands getting fidgety once more.

"It ain't like I lived through those times…" And all the while a mischievous grin that could have sworn otherwise lit Creed's expression. "But yeah, ya could say I got a pretty good idea o' what was really goin' down."

Her gaze become expectant, and Creed was very close to letting her down and not telling her anything else on the subject. He puffed his cigar a couple more times and enjoyed the grey horizon. He wondered if it was going to rain. He hoped not; he didn't feel like getting wet, but he was enjoying the quiet afternoon sitting on a bench by the lake, under the trees, and no people around to bother him. He noticed Irbis's sigh. She had probably realized the history lesson was over. He let go of the cigar's smoke and watched it slowly vanishing in the windless air.

"If ya know 'bout Al Capone, ya knows 'bout the dry law, right?"

Irbis looked at him quizzically and Creed rolled his eyes. She was so ignorant! So he patiently explained to her what it meant and the stratagems people thought up to get their hands on some booze. Then, as he still didn't feel like abandoning his park bench, he told her about the Untouchables. After that he told her the big moves that had turned those men into legends. And as the cigar was still far from being over, while the sky wasn't fulfilling its rainy threat, he took the chance and told her the crappy stories made up by wise-guys after easy money, taking care to debunk them, and to point out the harsh realities of a gangster life.

Irbis didn't look away for a single moment. She listened devotedly to Creed's every word and was particularly interested in his ideas and opinions, in his knowledge of what was more likely to be true or not and why. She had even forgotten her shyness and asked him questions. Creed had answered them. And why not? It wasn't everyday he got to speak for such an eager audience.

When the subject had finally run dry, Creed was in a fairly good mood. In a sudden whim, he took Irbis to the Sears Towers, where she was ecstatic with the view. Her appreciation for his knowledge and company further improved his mood. So it wasn't really a surprise when he grudgingly condescended in letting the girl go see the setting sun by the lake. She had asked for his permission, in her shy fidgeting way, during dinner, and he went as far as to fix things for her to spend an entire hour boating up and down the lake. And that arrangement wasn't a surprise either, since he wanted her busy while he took off for some business of his own.

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The clouds, which had covered the sky the day before, started pouring down a steady amount of rain early the next morning. Sometimes the shower would stop and the sun's rays would shot down through the clouds; but it was usually for some minutes only. However, the closer they got to their next stop, the thicker the cloud cover got, and the steadier the rain got, too.

It was a quarter to eleven when Irbis realized that Creed was driving towards a place called Toledo. She had remained silent so far, but now she had become tired of the silence, broken only by the radio and Creed's music CDs. She was feeling restless, and decided that the man had to be tired of the lack of dialogue too.

"Are we going to Toledo?" Her voice came out shier than she had wanted.

"Yup."

His answer didn't reveal much annoyance at the long silent drive, but it didn't show any annoyance at her question either. So she strengthened her resolve and looked for another excuse to spark a conversation.

"It's raining a lot."

He ignored her remark and she squirmed in her seat, wondering what could strike him as an interesting topic.

"So, Toledo… Is it in the Michigan Lake, too?"

She knew she was risking being called stupid again, but she was willing to forgive him if he then talked about the place. She remembered all the stories he had told her about Chicago and Al Capone and wondered if he knew much about other places. She avoided looking at him, as she wanted her conversation attempts to sound as casual as possible, so she didn't see the curious look he had shot her.

"Toledo ain't IN no lake." He didn't say anything else for a while and just enjoyed her restless squirming and disappointed sigh. Then he added: "It's AT the widest end o' Lake Erie."

"Eerie? Isn't dat a word dat means weird?"

"Yeah, eerie means weird, but the lake ain't called eerie, it's called Erie. It's spelled different."

"What does it mean?"

"It don't mean nothin'." He frowned and looked down at her. "Most o' the places around got Indian names. Wisconsin, Milwaukee, Michigan… Erie was an Indian tribe that lived near the lake, so it got the name from them. There's also a town called Erie further east."

"Oh."

He fell silent again. He was tired of the drive and decided he wasn't driving another mile that day. As soon as he got to Toledo, he was getting himself a hotel room and a proper lunch. Then he'd think about going through the shops for a cocktail dress.

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Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	3. The Hit

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 3**

**The Hit**

"I bet ya thought New York City was the capital o' the New York state. Probably even thought it was the capital o' the whole country, eh?"

"Actually, I've always known dat Washington is de capital off de United States. But I do have to admit dat I had always thought New York was de capital off de state of New York. It's probably because state and city have de same name, not to mention it's de most important city in de state."

"Yeah, well… Ya were wrong. Albany's the capital."

"Parece que sim…"

Creed grinned and glanced around. The club was truly elitist: guys went about showing off their expensive gay-shop clothes and their diamond stuffed dates. Most women were careful to expose as much as possible of their silicone-filled boobs, making themselves available for anyone sporting the right card. Whether they were sitting at the exquisitely furnished oak-wood tables, dancing on the shining dark tiled floor near the house's own well-dressed jazz band, or standing by the gold trimmed bar, they were always aiming at somebody. And Creed was no exception: at least five blondes, two brunettes and one red-head had tried to get his attention.

These were the type of women Creed never bothered to actually hunt: he allowed them to hunt him for the night and then he'd use them as he felt they deserved. But he knew these easy women rarely deserved any respect at all. A short haired brunette wrapped in a tight red outfit – some designer crap that showed more than it hid – strolled by his table, measuring him with a long hungry glance, and walked up to a bar stool.

He turned his attention back to the table and to Irbis, sitting opposite. She was toying with her cocktail and looked as intimidated as she could get. She obviously didn't fit in the club. Too bad, because she was going to spend both that night and the next in the place. She smiled nervously at him, waiting for him to spark a new conversation. Creed couldn't understand why she felt so out of place, because she almost had the right look to be a regular. Had she been a few inches taller and sporting some silicone, she'd have looked right at home.

And he had to admit the dress suited her marvellously. She had bought it down at Cleveland, along with another cocktail dress, two colourful day party dresses and some distinct looking skirt, top and jacket outfits. He had paid for it all, obviously, as well as for the shoes and bags, scarves, jewellery and what not. Still, he had been pleased, as she had bought nice looking things without sky-rocketing prices. He had never thought there could be women willing to economize money that wasn't their own.

A cautiously shrill laugh at a near table caught Irbis's attention and she forgot her nervousness for the second it took her to glance over. Her dark hair, done up in a tight bun from which locks of slightly wavy hair hang down, bounced and emphasized her tall slender neck, as well as the paleness of her face. When she turned her attention back to her own table, she was already toying with her necklace, a red see-through fabric with a silvery drop at the front. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, with several loose strings working as straps criss-crossing her shoulders and trimming the back. The strings were discreetly smeared with red shining dots that matched her dark red scarf, bag and shoes. Creed couldn't help but admit she looked stunning. It was a sober kind of stunning, though, that wouldn't catch a single guy's attention amidst all the easy women around. Even the redness of the outfit, which successfully made her look more lively, was sober and distinct, unlike the brunette's rowdy red, shining from the bar like a light-house.

"So…" He could hear the effort she had made not to let her voice tremble, but there was no effort that could hide her body's light trembling.

"So…" He echoed her. "Ya don't like fancy places, huh?"

She let an honest smile slip out and shook her head.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good company." She kept her eyes down, and corrected herself. "In dis type of bars. I'm not a good company in…"

"Ya know any interesting topic ta talk about?"

"Hun?" She looked at him with her honestly clueless expression and he grinned.

"We're gonna be stayin' here fer at least a couple of hours. Ya don't come up with an interesting conversation real soon, I'm gonna go over and have a chat with the brunette at the bar."

He almost laughed at her helplessly panicked face; she was fun to pick on when she let her guard down. She stuttered, while she was in all likelihood trampling her thoughts for a topic. But he knew what to talk about. After a couple of minutes, he asked:

"Ya ever read Hawthorne?"

"Hawthorne?"

"Yup. An American novelist. Wrote "Scarlet Letter" an' some other historical stuff."

"Ah… Yes, I know the romance."

Creed cocked an eyebrow.

"If ya read the novel, then ya know it ain't no romance."

Irbis blushed violently and stuttered some more while explaining that in Portuguese you call novels 'romances', hence her confusion. A few moments later, still blushed, she shyly whispered to Creed whether he read much. He grinned.

"Only what's worth readin'. You?"

"Oh, I know de basic English… I mean, British Literature. And all Portuguese Literature, too. And some Greco-Roman… I studied Latin in school." She explained almost as an apology, and continued in an ashamed tone. "But I don't know much about American... I'm afraid."

Creed had known from the beginning what topics to cover that night. He had known it since their shopping trip at Cleveland. After leaving the Tower City mall, in the Public Square, he had let her convince him to stop at the Natural History Museum. He had only given her an hour, and it was enough to discover that the girl was a nerd. She liked history, every historical period literature from every nationality, and science. She had been on her second year of college, taking a degree to become a primary school teacher, and according to her own words, preferred staying home reading something interesting or even studying rather than going out partying with friends. He grinned to himself. The girl was an open book to him, and it should be fairly easy to manipulate her once he distracted her into letting her guard down. But manipulating wasn't his aim that night.

It was just barely past midnight and Creed was surprised to discover he hadn't noticed how easily time had passed by. For appearance's sake, he had tried to put Irbis at ease so that their permanence at the table didn't look awkward. Once they had started talking about books, Creed had been pleased to notice Irbis had forgotten about her surroundings and had started talking in a quite enthusiastic way. He had expected that same reaction from the girl, and hoped they looked like a normal couple. What he hadn't expected was that the conversation might actually become interesting for him.

Irbis was smart and quickly realized Creed wasn't really enjoying talking about Shakespeare and Homer, so she switched over to something she thought he might enjoy a bit more: social criticism. He had actually grunted when she started down that road, but five minutes later they were both comparing the stupidity, corruption and other ridiculous human traits that were pointed out by authors such as the Portuguese Esa de Queiros or the Italian Tomasi di Lampedusa. She dwelled on raw images like that of the dead soldier, forgotten under a tree with his guts rotting under the sun, and on the hypocrite viciousness of some characters, like the priest who was getting laid with the most pious lady in the parish. And for each character, event or action from whatever book, there was someone from the present day to be compared to. More importantly, though, she surreptitiously challenged Creed to come up with better examples and comparisons. In half an hour, they had started a race after the most scandalous situations, whether real or novelistic, going over modern writers and polemic works like those of Michael Moore. But above all that was said, what struck Creed the most was that Irbis was always eager to hear and accept his say-so. Even if she would then come up with a different opinion or idea, she appeared to genuinely enjoy listening to him – and that pleased him immensely.

It was nearly one am when they finally left. Nevertheless, Irbis only discovered why when they got to the car and Creed slowly started its engine, right on time to start following his target's Porsche. He drove in silence, tailing the other man until he arrived to the Crowne Plaza Hotel. Neither Creed nor Irbis said a word until they reached their inn, almost a mile away. Creed escorted her to her room and entered his own to change into more comfortable clothes. Then he exited quietly.

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The lamps idly lit the corridor on the club's first floor. Irbis was standing on the green carpets, next to an office door, holding her bag and scarf so as to conceal a hard disk Creed had just delivered her. He was inside the office, talking to a guy. Probably his victim, she mused. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, tight on the torso but whose skirt flared slightly. It had a low neckline trimmed with silvery dashes, matching the black bag and shoes' diminutive white gems as well as the black and white lace scarf. She looked at a mirror, hanging a bit to the left on the opposite wall, and checked her hair, done in a bun and decorated with a stylish silver net.

Irbis sighed. She felt oddly calm, although her mind had tried to alarm her at the possibility of Creed's hit going awry. Still, the only idea she could really dread was the thought of returning to the club downstairs. She couldn't even pretend to fit in; the whole environment was completely alien, not to say belittling. The mere thought of having those women looking down on her gave her goose bumps. She looked around, wondering how much longer Creed would take. Not that she wanted him to return: the longer he took, the less time they'd spend at the club… she hoped.

She closed her eyes and leaned on the wall, careful not to ruin her hair-do. The first thing that popped into her mind was the Niagara Falls. She had never seen such an extraordinary thing in her whole life. It had been the day after she had bought this same dress, at Cleveland. Mr. Creed had let her go to the Natural History Museum. Looking back, she wondered how she had had the nerve to propose visiting it. Although, to say the truth, she had simply mentioned she had only gone to a natural history museum once, and that it had been years ago. That had been all she'd said, but Creed had got all grumpy and said she'd better not take more than an hour. Well, who was she to complain, right? After that, they had gone to the Niagara Falls. Obviously, they had stopped at other places – at Erie for the night, then at Buffalo for lunch – and finally they had arrived.

The sun had been shining, the thermometers toppling the 90º F mark, and everything had been perfect. Creed hadn't meant to go there: he was going to go straight to Rochester and then Albany from Buffalo. But there was time, so he willingly took her to the Falls. And were they worth it! Irbis sighed, remembering the sight, the sound, the moisture in the air, the heat of the sun while they lay on the grass… She smiled, as she recalled Creed saying he couldn't stand the crowds in Goat Island. She wondered if he had believed she didn't like them either, or if he had thought she was just trying to please him. Because she really hated crowds. And her smile became broader as she retraced her steps through the almost empty Niagara Falls State Park. They had spent the evening there, waiting for the dark and the light shows. Creed had showed little interest on the whole affair, but she was sure he had never been there. Well, maybe he'd seen the Falls; but she could bet he had never just played the tourist, enjoying the show.

Her smile faded as she remembered his shape, relaxed and lying on the grass. He seemed so peaceful with his eyes closed, so… well, not defenceless or helpless, that was something she was sure he'd never look like; but he had looked like a regular guy, not at all the professional serious and dangerous-looking hitman.

The door opened suddenly and she sprang to the middle of the corridor, ready to move. Creed took his time, though, fixing his shirt and his jacket first; then he placed a hand on her back and calmly led her down. As they walked down the stairs, she wished they'd leave immediately. And they did. She exhaled hard with relieve. The night before, when they had arrived at the club, he had left her alone at the table for some five minutes and she had nearly panicked. She felt ashamed of it now, but at the time she had felt really scared. When Creed had finally returned she was stiff and eager to just bolt out of the joint, and he had frowned. Even now, she wondered if he had noticed her weakness and cowardice. She hoped not. She really, really hoped not. And once more she called herself stupid and moron at the memory of Creed's reaction: the mockery shining in his eyes and his typical predatory grin, showing the tip of his fangs. "I'm so stupid, so stupid!", she kept thinking to herself, her cheeks starting to blush with shame and anger at the memory, and her eyes eagerly checking that the blonde was too intent on reaching the car to look at her. And she was stupid very simply because that blasted grin had made her feel safe! That grin she already knew so well; the grin which always promised a down turn, sometime in the future. It had made her feel safe, amidst all those belittling strangers!

Creed unlocked the car while Irbis prayed for the night wind to cool down her burning face. And that's when it all happened. One moment she was standing next to the car's back, the next she was laying on the floor and Creed was on top of her. She couldn't even say how she had got on the floor. And then she heard the roaring. Creed was already jumping at some men who were getting off a car, armed with guns. Irbis got up and froze when she saw the bullet marks on the Land Rover. She hadn't even heard any shooting! She uncertainly rose to her feet and turned to where the fight was going on.

She wasn't afraid. Later on, she decided it was because the whole thing had been unreal: it had been like a dream, or a movie… but it definitely hadn't been real. Even as she watched the men being slaughtered under the car park lamp posts. Even as she heard their cries of pain, the desperate begging words she couldn't fully understand. Even as she saw Creed's distorted expression, his bared fangs actually biting a man. Even as she saw his claws glittering in the milky street light, plunging into the men and bringing out things she couldn't distinguish… she didn't want to. Even as Creed looked at her, growling, his eyes shining like those of a wild animal. She had not been afraid. Even as she sat on the car and buckled the seatbelt, with Creed sitting at her side, still growling and covered in blood and red pieces of… she couldn't tell what it was. Covered in blood. It still wasn't real. So she needn't be afraid.

And then she felt something. It was almost like a tear trickling down her face. She touched it and when she looked at her hand she saw blood. She lowered the visor and checked herself on the mirror: there was blood on her left cheek and on her forehead. How did it get there? They were just arriving at the Inn's car park. The blood was still trickling down her cheek. Just like tears.

And all of a sudden, it became real. And she was frightened.

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	4. Inner Beasts

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 4**

**Inner Beasts**

Creed drove in silence all the way to the hotel. Irbis remained just as silent at his side. Her heartbeat had set a quiet rhythm in the silence during the ride. His own heart, on the other hand, was speeding with rage and craving… craving for more blood. When they reached the hotel, though, he smelled a difference in her: little by little, the strong scent of fear filled the car and excited the hunger he was feeling. He left the car abruptly, banging the door and trying to keep himself in check. There was no one in sight and the crickets' voice was only interrupted by the few cars that sped through the road, every now and then. But the road was several feet away, and the area was just a wide and well groomed lawn with a few young trees scattered around. Creed felt the scent of fear fill the air and realized Irbis had come closer to his unmoving shape. She stood there, squeezing her hands in one another in a nervous way. Waiting for him, he guessed; waiting for him to kill her. And fearing it intensely.

He looked at her: her pale face seemed paler in comparison to the darkness smearing her forehead and left cheek. His throat vibrated with a low growl. All she had known about him, so far, was that he was a killer and that he enjoyed his job. She had seen him kill – collected and in cold blood – but that was it. Still holding back his hunger, he turned to her and took one step closer, half his mind captured by the scent that kept emanating from her, the other half eager to fully dispel any illusions she had had so far.

"That ya saw, that's who I am, girl, that's what I am: a killer. A hunter. A predator. I live fer the kill, ya understand? Fer the blood, and the fear, and the… the pain and the sufferin' o' my victims. It's what's in my nature, ya understand? It's in my nature an' ya can't go 'gainst yer nature; ya can't say 'this ain't me', when everybody can see that's exactly what ya are. Ya understand what I'm tellin' ya?"

She was frowning and nodded her head thoughtfully, but Creed was sure she didn't understand. How could she? Nobody understood. He had said those same words so many times, to so many people, but no one ever understood it: they always said that it was bullshit and then spent all their efforts trying to turn around their natures and the natures of everybody else! He shook his head in frustration. On the girl's face, though, he thought he saw an honest wish to understand and it urged him to try and explain things better, to try and make her see the truth.

"I know this guy… he's the same as me: a predator. An animal. We don't fit in this world o' sheep; we can't possibly fit in, 'cause it just ain't in our nature ta fit in, ya know? But he goes about fightin' his 'animal side' an' thinks he's all the better fer it, an all his buddies pat 'im in the back an' says he's so great fer keepin' his beast in check… It's all crap! He's less than nothin' fer denyin' what he is. 'Oh, I'm a man, not an animal', he says. Bullshit! I'm a man, an' that don't mean I ain't no animal, too. 'Cause that's what we are, both of us: animals hungry fer blood. We're one of a kind, us, only he refuses to admit it; even though he knows I'm right – an' he does, make no mistake – he just refuses it."

Creed shook his head, a tired but disgusted expression playing upon his features.

"He's got his friends, his girls, his pals… His very own make-belief family! Thinks he's so high n'mighty! He's nothin'! He's got no right ta be in their middle! They're lil'rabbits, all of 'em, an' we're the wolves who's gonna eat 'em. That's how it works! An' he just plays it like he's one of 'em. His so called family… He's got no right ta none of it. No right."

He had finished. He shook his head a couple of times yet, oblivious to Irbis's presence at his side. He only remembered her again when he heard her low voice.

"It's how it works, I'm afraid. I think… your friend…"

"He's no friend o' mine!"

Irbis actually jumped at the thundering voice and quickly corrected herself.

"Ah… Desculpe. I mean, I'm sorry. I mean… What I meant is dat I think we're all like dat. But… you're supposed to do things in a certain way: the way everyone does it. I don't know if I'm being clear but… I was listening to you talking and I had never thought about it, about people's nature and deir animal side… And I was listening to you and I was thinking and it makes sense. It really does…"

Creed was now looking at her, not really understanding where she was getting at.

"I've never fit in. Everyone always does things and says things, and acts and thinks, always in de same way. And dat's de… de normal way off… of seeing de world, I think. And if you don't see things in de same way and dey find out about it, den dey kick you out off deir perfect, tidy little world. Dey just talk about you and laugh at you and… And I've always had trouble understanding de world de way everyone does. I suppose it is my nature. My animal side, like you said. I just think in a different way: I feel in a different way. But… I looked around and dere were people around me who loved me, who did so much for me… How could I ever let dem down? How could I not stand to deir expectations? How?"

Irbis looked at Creed with her troubled eyes for a moment; then she shook her head and looked away, to the pavement under her feet.

"So I just stashed it away. It's what everyone does, what everyone has to do if dey want to live in… in society. It's funny, I had never thought about it, but it all makes perfect sense! You take your animal side and you lock it into a basement."

"A basement…?" Creed frowned, but his voice had been only a whisper and Irbis didn't hear him.

"I think dat sometimes you have to fight it, to force it down dere, because it won't want to go. But you lock it and den you forget all about it… You leave it dere to die… or maybe you try and kill it right away. I don't know, I'm only thinking dis now, as I speak. But I think dat it's true. But if your… inside beast? Yes, if your inside beast is very strong, it will fight and it won't die easily; it will try to become free again. And you'll have to fight it many times, when it breaks free from de basement."

Still looking at the pavement, Irbis smiled sadly.

"I'm afraid I'm not a fighter. I took my inside beast into de basement, but I never fought it. I just… talked to it… just got to an understanding wid it: I don't lock it and don't try to kill it, and it doesn't leave the basement widout me letting it and it doesn't make me rebel against de world. It sounds silly, said like dis, but I think dat's exactly what I did. You know, I don't think I could kill my inside beast even if I was a fighter. I think it's too scary, too… exhausting, to always see de world like everyone else. Sometimes I like to take a break. I sit back and relax and… and try to make sense off de world through the eyes of my inside beast. But it's very lonely. I can't say how many times I've wished to be like everyone else! But den, de way dey see life and de way dey live life seems so… I don't know. In a way, I'm curious about it and I want to understand it; but in de oder hand, it's just foreign… it's like it's alien. And it's very… ah… 'vistas curtas'… widout horizons. It's very closed up, you understand?"

She waited for him to nod his understanding before continuing.

"I don't really want to be like everyone else. I like being different, it's just de loneliness dat boders me. I don't want to kill my inside beast. I don't want to deny my nature… I even tell myself dat I'm being true to myself, sometimes. But it's a lie. Because… I just pretend dere's nothing wrong wid me, dat I see things de same way like everyone else. I suppose… deep in de bottom. I'm just like your… like dat man you talk about."

She sighed and he remained silent, digesting everything she had said.

"Do you know what I do? I divide myself in two. Dere's one person for everyone to see, and she is always trying to live up to everyone's expectations. It's hard. And it takes a lot of patience and effort, and I never quite make it; but it's good enough and everyone just says dat I'm shy, dat I'm a… dat I have my head in de clouds, dat I'm always distracted. But because I'm always very nice and helpful, no one pays attention to de weird little things in me. And den dere's de oder person, and she's always hidden away and no one ever sees her."

She shook her head at herself.

"It's very stupid, isn't it? I'm very much coward… I just… I can't help but admire how you… aren't you afraid of letting everyone see dat… your animal side, your inside beast? Doesn't it hurt how everyone looks at you like you're so strange, so… I don't know. I guess you just aren't a coward, like me… like dat oder man."

"Don't say that. Don't compare yerself ta Logan. If there's somebody who's a coward, that's him: he won't look at his 'inner beast', like ya called it, he won't look at his 'inner beast' in the eye 'cause he's just too scared it may take the best over him. He's a weakling."

"I'm afraid to let anyone find out about it. Dat's coward, too. You're not afraid."

"Ya don't know nothin' 'bout me, girl. An' ya ain't no coward. Ya ain't afraid o' the darkness inside ya, o' the hunger fer blood, are ya? What ya're afraid of is letting people know 'bout them. That ain't very brave, true, but it ain't coward. Coward is being too scared to accept who ya are… what ya are. An' ya don't sound like ya have any problems there."

Creed started walking towards the hotel and Irbis followed him.

"We leavin' early in the morning, so ya better be ready ta leave at five sharp, got it?"

"Yes, Mr. Creed."

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The room is very dark and I can't see anythin' 'round. I feel strange… like I'm not myself: small and scared. This ain't me. It can't be. I can't smell nothin', an' that's impossible: even if I didn't have my heightened senses I'd still be able ta smell somethin'. Then I hear a voice. It sounds familiar, but I can't understand what it's sayin' right away. Where am I? Fortunately, the voice becomes a bit louder, even if it's just a fine whisper.

"_You take your animal side and you lock it into a basement."_

Who said that? Where am I? Suddenly, a door opens and it sheds enough light fer me ta see where I am.

"_You take your animal side and you lock it into a basement."_

It's just a memory, and I start ta feel more relaxed as that idea sinks in. I'm in the basement where my parents used ta lock me up…

"_You take your animal side and you lock it into a basement."_

And I can recognize that voice, too. It's Irbis; it's somethin' Irbis said sometime… There's footsteps coming down the stairs into the basement and every muscle in me tenses up. I feel my fangs 'gainst my lips and the growlin' in my throat – I know this memory, and I don't like it. I don't like it at all. My heartbeat gains speed and I wanna wake up; I wanna stop this stupid nonsense. I try ta pull away, but the chain that keeps me locked in here hurts my neck and I just stay put. Wake up, already, dammit! If this whole dreamin' is the girl's fault, she's gonna regret it in the morning… well, but at least I ain't listenin' to her yapping no more.

The footsteps are still soundin' in the wooden stairs, and much to my annoyance, I can hear myself whimper. It ain't really me, I know it, it's just the memory o' me… but that don't help my temper. If only I could break loose… I wanna growl; I wanna attack those legs I see already walkin' on the dirt floor… but this puny, childish body that used ta be me just backs away until the wall don't let him retreat no more. Stupid kid! Ya should be springin' forward, killin' that… that…

The white rabbit drops ta the floor and just stays there, unaware of its comin' death. I look at the man – my Pa… my father… – bastard, son of a… He's grinnin' at me. I hear his words even if he don't really speak. I've heard them so many times before… Dammit! Why can't I just wake up, now?

"Because you have to kill it first. You must kill it… eat it, if you want to survive… If you want to become strong and big and be a free man, one day. Kill it! You eat only what you kill!"

This is stupid. I look at that man's face… it's been a long time since I've had a dream where I can see his face. It's always just a dark mask. I know he's grinnin', I know his eyes are shinin' with hate and evil… they always are… But there's never no face. Just darkness.

"Kill it!"

I growl at him. Good boy! Now, if that bastard would just come closer… What am I doin'? This is just a dream! I have ta wake up, that's what I have ta do, not… not this… I don't need ta look at him ta know he's displeased. It's gonna hurt now. Dammit, why can't I just wake up? No matter how much I pull the chain, how much it makes me hurt… ain't pain supposed ta wake ya up? Or was it somethin' else?

"I'm gonna fix ya, boy!"

I close my eyes. I don't wanna, but the boy closes his eyes and I'm blind to anythin' but the pain o' the damned rod. This is where I wake up. It's where I always wake up. My back and neck and head are throbbin'… but it's just a memory: the pain will go away the moment I wake up. Any moment now… any moment…

"I'm gonna fix ya! Drive away the devil from ya!"

This is wrong. I should be wakin' up, dammit! He's stopped hittin' and I'm still dreamin', still rememberin'… I see the rabbit standin' in front o' me, lookin' at me with its innocent eyes. It'll stop if I kill it. The idea comes ta me all of a sudden: he's not hittin' me 'cause he wanna drive the devil out o' me… at least not this time, he ain't… It's 'cause he wanted me ta kill the rabbit, 'cause… He'll let me be if I kill the rabbit, he'll… What am I thinkin'? This is the memory's thoughts, not mine… right? Man, oh man, I just hate this! Wake up already!

I look at the man's feet. I'm gonna twist things 'round a bit. You can twist dreams a bit, like that… You just wait… I can see yer feet right at my side: ya're right in the perfect place fer losin' some pieces. The boy looks up at him and I see his face hoverin' over me… it' just a dark mask, as always, but the mask has red eyes that shine like fire and… and there are fangs? He has fangs? Oh, fer cryin' out loud, this dream just gets weirder and weirder…

The floor is wet and sticky. I look down and there's nothin' but dead white rabbits all 'round the room, and everythin's red from their blood: the floor, the walls, the ceiling… even their fur is gettin' red. And he's grinnin' at me. Did he have fangs? He couldn't… he wasn't a mutant… This ain't no real memory; it's just a darned dream getting' twisted inta somethin' weird…

"Now, you'll be able to survive. Now, you'll be big and strong."

He's happy. He's grinnin', pleased that I killed the rabbits… but I didn't, did I? I'm scared. It's just a stupid dream, but I feel like… dammit, I don't know! It's just… I feel so weak. My back's still hurtin' from the beatin' an' my legs are covered in blood, an' my hands and arms. I feel weak and I can't hold my head up no more. I lean it against the soft white fur. And I can smell the blood, makin' me sick… so sick… I wanna sleep… I wanna get out o' here, breathe in some fresh air… but I can't breathe… I can't…

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Creed opened his eyes, feeling suffocated. He had sprung up in the bed and was looking around, trying to figure out where he was. He was soaked in sweat and his breath was ragged. He got out of bed with sudden rash movements and had a cold shower. He remained under the running water until his breathing became even. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head of whatever it was he had been dreaming. He often had nightmares, some he remembered, others he didn't; but he always preferred not remembering them.

When he returned to the bedroom, he still felt weak. Weak and small and sick. And lost. He ran a hand through his wet hair trying to sort out his thoughts, but there weren't any thoughts to sort out, just those feelings, those… He quickly grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt. The night was cool, but the air seemed hot and thick and sticky to him. He wanted to take a deep breath of fresh air, but the air was the same everywhere and it felt as if he was drowning.

He roamed through the empty streets. What time was it? He couldn't think straight no matter how hard he tried. Then he heard a couple of voices. Quickly hiding in the shadows, he saw a car drive by with two men inside. Now, more than ever, he couldn't think straight. But it didn't bother him anymore. He registered the slow movement of the car… the two men in it, surveying the area and talking to one another. The air reeked of something, making him sick, but he couldn't distinguish what it could be… and then the car drove by him. It took less than a second. He jumped and reached for the driver. The window was open, but it wouldn't have stopped him even if it had been closed.

A new scent filled the air and his nostrils. He could almost taste it: salty and thick and warm. It spilled to his hands and his face and he licked it. Now he felt utterly relaxed; now he felt strong and in control. He took a deep breath; for the first time since he had woken he felt he could think straight again.

"Shit."

Next to him was a police car with an open door, and two police officers in their dark uniforms lay chopped at his feet. He ducked and cursed himself under his breath. These had been two very bad targets. He surveyed the street. It was an old, small street and he couldn't see any cameras. Cameras were everywhere these days, checking both traffic and anything else that went down under their watching eye. There was probably one, at least, but since he couldn't see any, maybe his attack hadn't been taped. He swiftly returned to the hotel. It took him a half an hour to return, going through dark alleys where he was less likely to be spotted. Once he was back, he returned to his room in the same way he had left – through the window. He showered, packed his things and looked at the watch. 4.34 am. Perfect time to start travelling.

He got his things, went over to Irbis's room and walked in. She was already up and in the bathroom.

"Hey, girl! I'm goin' down ta check us out. Ya better be ready in five minutes."

He left before she had time to answer.

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Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	5. Dropping the Masks

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 5**

**Dropping the Masks**

The sun was rising from the ocean. Europe and Portugal stood straight ahead, somewhere beyond the distance. The water was cold, and the beach was empty. Head of Meadow Beach, with its strong surf and the sea-weeds accumulating on the water line, was completely empty. Creed was laying back on the clean smooth sand, listening to the sea-birds' screaming and to the waves rolling lazily. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be sleeping. Had it not been for the girl's presence at his side, he would probably be sleeping; but he never did really relax around other people. He knew all too well not to trust them. Not one. So he never let his guard down unless he was completely on his own.

Irbis was sitting, looking at the horizon: a line of shining brightness which hid the sight of her long lost home. Time seemed to have stopped, despite the light's continuous growth, and Irbis wasn't really watching the landscape in front of her. Rather, she was remembering their stop at Portland.

They had left Albany in the middle of the night and Creed had driven almost non-stop. They had had a brief break at Port Henry, but only for breakfast. Then he'd driven for another hour to Burlington, a town placed in a beautiful landscape of greens and lakes. He'd had another break there, getting ready for a five hour drive where Creed had sped like a crazed man. They had reached Portland at exactly 1.50 in the afternoon. They had eaten lunch at a little restaurant near the fish market, then he had dropped her near a shopping centre and disappeared until seven, when he picked her up at the same place.

Creed had been silent and focused all the time. Almost as if he had forgotten about Irbis's existence. But that was just an illusion, as she discovered that same night.

In the evening, he took her to Cape Elizabeth, which was about half an hour drive east of Portland. They had a marvellously expensive dinner at the Lobster Shack, overlooking the ocean, but Creed was quiet and she followed his cue. Not that she felt particularly cheerful or talkative: their last talk, after the Albany kill, still haunted her. Like his frozen amber eyes haunted her throughout the meal. And then she discovered the last face of the killer named Sabretooth. The one she hadn't seen yet.

He had said it himself. "This is what I am, girl.", those had been his exact words. "This is what I am, an' I'm gonna make sure ya knows exactly what 'this' is." And now she knew.

He had dropped Irbis during the afternoon to sniff out a man's house. The guy who had sent those men to kill them at Albany, after the hit at the club. He had found this guy's house, studied it and prepared the night attack. The clouds were covering the sky so completely there wasn't a single star visible. He had helped her over the wall; he had kept her close by him as he killed the three security guards. He had guided her to the man's bedroom… He and his wife were sleeping when they walked in.

And then it happened. Looking at the shining ocean, Irbis remembered the woman's screams. He said that's what he did to people who tried to double-cross him, who tried to betray him. Irbis wasn't sure what he meant, as he was talking to the man, gagged and crying. He had begged for his wife first, before Creed had gagged him with a piece of his wife's night dress. And then he just cried as Creed tortured her. As Creed tore slashes of her skin, here and there, peeling them off with his claws as if she was an apple. The man closed his eyes as Creed slashed slices of meat from her belly, her breasts, her thighs… She had felt sick at the idea that he was going to rape the woman in front of her, but he hadn't done it. She doubted, though, that he had kept himself from going that far because of respect or scruples for her.

Irbis had just stood there, watching. She had been stiff and frightened. She looked at the sea, giving birth to a reddish sun, and she felt terribly frightened. And what terrified her the most was something she couldn't understand: her reaction. Her lack of reaction. The man, resting peacefully at her side, was truly a monster. She had admired how the man fully accepted himself, his nature, while she was too cowardly to do the same. But that… that monster who had tortured the woman till she had fainted; that monster wasn't human. She remembered the inner beast they had talked about. That torture was the beast's doing, she decided, not the man's.

Irbis looked at him, taking the chance now that he was apparently asleep. He had an undeniable roughness about him, an undeniable lack of a sympathetic expression. But he really just looked like a man. A hard man, true, but a man. The twisted smile he had had while he listened to the woman's desperate screams hadn't been the smile of a man, but that of a devil. A bloodthirsty devilish beast. It could torture her too, Irbis thought, one day. But she wouldn't let it. She wouldn't let it catch her alive.

"Whatch'ya lookin' at?"

Irbis jumped at the sound of his voice. He still kept his eyes closed. She shook her head, blushed at having been caught staring at him, and locked her eyes on the sea.

"N-nada. Nothing."

He cracked an eye open.

"Whatch'ya thinkin'?"

She didn't say anything, and he didn't move, just staring at her with that one eye. She wasn't looking at him, but felt his stare, somehow, and she knew she'd have to say something. She finally looked at him, ignoring the heat on her cheeks. There was no threat in the man's intense suspicion. She wondered if he thought her too weak to be worth a threatening stance. He probably did, as she really was as defenceless as anyone could get.

Creed sat up on the sand and looked at her, a bit impatient.

"Well?"

She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off with a warning.

"Don't think 'bout lyin'. I can smell lies. An' I ain't very nice ta people who lie ta me."

She closed her mouth. He was looking at her with a serious face, without his usual grin, but he didn't seem angry either. His amber eyes were cold and felt as if they were seeing through her. She felt herself shudder, but it wasn't for fear. There was nothing frightening in the man, right now. And the fear that had kept her company as the sun rose was slowly dispelled. Irbis shrugged her shoulders.

"I was thinking many things…"

"You were afraid." And he slightly narrowed his eyes, probing her.

Irbis frowned. How did he know she had been afraid? Had it shown that much?

"You afraid I'm gonna do ta you what I did ta that frail back there?"

She studied his face for a second before answering. She was amazed she felt so calm and could think so clearly. It was probably because of the salty sea perfume, cold and strong around her.

"You want me alive to clean your house." His lips twisted in a grin, but she continued before he could speak. "One day… one day you won't need me. Or you won't want me anymore. Den you'll kill me."

His grin died away and his eyes became harder. But she still felt perfectly calm.

"Maybe you'll do to me what you did to her, den. Or maybe I'll kill myself before you do it. But it isn't important. Right now, you want me alive, so I needn't be afraid of you. When you get tired of me, den I'll be afraid; not now. Dere will be plenty time for dat."

Creed knew she meant what she said, and he knew she was right. That wouldn't have kept him from telling her she was wrong; but his curiosity led him back to his original question.

"Ya still haven't answered me. What were ya afraid of, a little while ago?"

She held her breath, then looked away to the sand at her side, frowning slightly. Her hand started playing with it, becoming coated in moist white sand. Her voice came out in a whisper.

"I don't know."

And Creed could smell no lie.

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Creed got off the car and banged its door. He had been driving non-stop since he had left Cape Cod, about three hours ago; and adding it to all the hours he had driven in the last days, he was finally starting to get fed up with the road. Irbis was closing the Land Rover's door and he watched her for a second. With her long hair caught in a casually loose low pony-tail and her large T-shirt over tight-fitting jeans, she didn't seem to have the slightest bit of attractiveness. She fit the clumsy nerd profile, even if she didn't get people looking at her nerdiness. In fact, people didn't even seem to notice her much: she didn't catch their eye either in a positive or in a negative way.

He had already sat down when Irbis silently slid onto the bench ahead of him. She had been silent ever since he had questioned her about what she was afraid of, and he had to admit that her constant silence was starting to aggravate his annoyance from the long drive. Fortunately for her, the arrival of food made her more talkative.

"Are we going to return to Wausau now?"

Creed had just picked up the bread where the burger sat and taken a big bite out of it.

"Nope. Goin' ta New York first. Got somethin' ta deliver ta my employer down there."

"Oh." She paused a moment before continuing. "De hard disk I held for you in de club, right?"

"Yup."

Irbis glanced around, studying the wide restaurant room, filled with small tables in the middle and front, nearer to the big window panes, and with booths lining the windowless back walls, the divisions creating the illusion of a more sombre, isolated area. They were in one of those booths, which definitely weren't the favourite for most of the people eating there, so Irbis could have a relatively good sight of the busy centre and front of the room, if she leaned to the side a little. She briefly wondered if the waitress would even come around their table spontaneously or if they would have to call her when they needed something. There had been only two booths occupied when they had arrived, and one group had already left, so the waitress would surely not pay them much attention.

Irbis finally focused her attention on the burger, resting peacefully in a generous bedding of colourful sauces on the bottom end of a bun and wrinkled her nose somewhat. Fortunately, the plate was big and she was able to use the plastic fork and knife set to get the burger off the bread. The bread was cumbersome on the plate, though, so she tried to bury it under the plentiful French fries. The upper end of the bun wasn't messed up with any sauce, and she carelessly picked it up and put it next to the plate, on a napkin, taking a piece off it and dipping it on the sauce. Then she cut a piece of the burger and started her own lunch.

"Whatchya doin'?" Creed's burger was almost gone when she looked up at him with her usual confused expression.

"Eating?"

It sounded like an apology and Creed pointed at his own burger sandwich as he asked why she was eating her burger without the bread.

"Oh, that. I got tired of eating sandwiches at school. I only had time to go to the canteen two days a week, so I was stuck eating sandwiches not only for morning and afternoon snacks but also at lunch. I'm filled with sandwiches all the way to the tip of my hair! And anyway, a proper dish meal will always leave you more satisfied, you know."

Creed didn't comment and just finished his own burger, instead.

"Do you think I'm weird?" Her soft voice surprised him somewhat. She was gazing at him very quietly, and without her usual blushing for once. He watched her for a second before answering.

"Nope, I don't think, kid, I knows ya're a first class weirdo fer a fact."

Even more surprisingly, she smiled. A broad shy smile that lit her expression up.

"Yes, I guess I am, aren't I?"

"Definitely." And added without a moment's delay: "Hey, waitress!"

The waiter brought Creed and Irbis a second serving of burgers and fries, Irbis's without bread. Irbis ate hers silently. She had been embarrassed when Creed had looked at her with a mildly puzzled expression, while she was eating the burger with a fork and a knife. But then he had agreed she was a weirdo and she had just stopped feeling embarrassed. It was strange. She almost felt as if being the weirdo she was – and Creed knowing she was, too – was no big deal. So when she had ordered another burger but without bread, she never felt embarrassed. Not even when the waitress had stared at her plate and rolled her eyes at her order.

Irbis took a deep breath, watching the man finish his burger and fries, and hardly noticed the smile that stealthily crept to her face. She was feeling rather bold, now. She couldn't care less if the other people thought she was weird, and as for Creed… well, he already knew she was weird, and crazy, and… whatever. Why should she be embarrassed of showing it further? She bit her lower lip and made up her mind. She only had to wait as the blond called the waitress and ordered some apple pie.

"Mr Creed…" He looked at her but didn't bother to answer. "You're a mutant, right?"

"Gee! What was yer first clue? Maybe the fact that I told ya that myself?"

She immediately blushed, as her new-found boldness staggered under his sarcasm. The damned kid blushed way too much, Creed thought.

"You said… you could… ah… you could smell lies?" She glanced at him nervously, noting his frown. "Is it a… an expression? I mean, I thought it was, but den you have… you have… dose… ah… dose things. In your hands. Fingers. So I thought…"

"Will ya quit the stutterin' already? I ain't gonna eat ya fer askin' somethin' stupid!"

There was a thick silence after he grumbled that he might do it if she kept annoying him, though, which was elongated by the waiter's arrival with two portions of apple pie. But he eventually decided to answer, after taking a bite at his pie.

"First off, these 'things'," and he looked around before popping out the claws on his right hand next to her face, "are called 'claws'. Think ya can remember the word?"

"Claws. I won't forget. Claws."

She was looking at him with a half ashamed expression, biting her lip and slightly blushed, but she wasn't the least frightened by his bad mood. He frowned; of course she had never been taken aback by his bad mood before either. She was keeping her blushed gaze on him, waiting for him to continue, so he took a deep breath.

"Both my claws an' my fangs…" He grinned to her and pointed to one of his sharply white canines. "These are fangs, by the way. So, as I was sayin', both my claws an' fangs are part o' my mutant powers. But they ain't the only ones: I also got heightened senses. Which means I can see, hear an' smell better than anyone."

Her eyes opened in disbelief.

"I can follow somebody's track by smell alone. You, fer instance, have a very basic scent, 'cause ya rarely put on perfume. But even if ya did put some on, I could still smell ya out of any hidin' hole ya tried ta get yerself in."

"Que fixe!"

"Fish? What 'fish' gotta do with it?"

"No, not 'fish', I mean… great! Fixe as in great! I mean… it's amazing!"

And for the first time since they'd met she laughed. It wasn't an open, free laugh; more of a giggled kind of laugh, as if she were holding herself back.

"Eu nem acredito… You know, I was always called… Como é que se diz? What do you call dose dogs dat hunters use for smelling de way?"

"Huh? Hounds?"

"Hounds? Right. OK, so I'm what dey call a 'hound nose', because I can tell if a food has too much or too less salt just by smelling it. So you're a 'hound nose' too, like me!"

And she laughed again, the same type of laugh as before, not noticing Creed's annoyed growl. Who the heck was she calling a dog?

"Can you do dat, too, like me?"

"Do what?" He grunted while thinking he'd teach her some manners the moment they were out of that place.

"Smell if de food has de right quantity of salt or not." She insisted, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Or if it lacks some ingredients. I can do dat too, you know. I smell a food and I can tell if it needs some more tomato, or pepper, or some spice… I mean, my friends say I'm crazy, but my grandma does dat, too, so… So, can you do it too?"

"Girl, le' me put it this way: whatever you can smell, I can smell a thousand times better. Got it?"

"Oh." Unfortunately, his threatening gruffness didn't shut her up for more than a couple minutes. "Do flowers wid strong perfumes annoy you, den?"

"What?" If she hadn't cut short on the enthusiasm, he probably would have reacted more aggressively; but Irbis seemed serious, as if her question actually had some degree of importance.

"I had thought about getting some nice flowers to put inside de house so it would have a nice perfume, instead of dose perfume cans and stuff, which is all artificial. Would it annoy you, because of your high senses?"

Finally, a sensible question indeed!

"Artificial house scents don't annoy me, kid, they get me ready ta kill whoever thought o' sprayin' 'em around. As fer flowers… it's best ta leave 'em outside where they belong. And while we're at it, you may wanna change whatever product ya's been usin' ta wash my linen, 'cause that one still leaves a blasted stench on everythin'."

Irbis nodded. He had said he didn't want his clothes with any type of perfume when she had first started working for him, and she had tried all the products she had found until finally finding one that had the least scent. However, there was no such thing as a completely scent-free product, and she decided it was probably easier to find a scent he might like. Putting up her best professional expression, she asked him the reason for his distaste: was it because he didn't like any type of scents, or because the products' perfume was artificial and therefore not to his taste, or…

"What does it matter? Ya keep the house scent free, and ya won't have no problems. I've had enough o' hotels and cleanin' agencies dat do nothin' but spray scents around ta mask any lingerin' smells. Ya want a nice perfume in the house? Keep it clean and open the back windows ta let the air in. That's all the perfume any house needs: airin'."

Opening the back windows. Right. Good thing the house wasn't in the middle of a city, with the stench of car exhausters everywhere. Although she wasn't about to give up, Irbis decided it was best to lay off that question for the moment and get back to it when he might be in a better mood. Right now, she needed something that could lighten his mood.

"Well… I was thinking…"

Creed shook his head.

"Ever crossed yer mind maybe ya think too much?"

She bit her lip.

"Are we going back to Wausau from New York?"

"Yes. Now why don't ya stop the questionin' and eat yer pie 'fore ya gets hurt?"

Irbis obeyed the man, but the moment she had finished she was back to her previous track.

"I may be out of line, Mr. Creed, and I apologize if I am, but… I can't help but wonder how you can keep driving for hours each day, and for quite some days in a row, too, widout getting tired." Creed lifted a suspicious eyebrow but didn't interrupt her, waiting to see whatever she was planning. "And to go from new York to Wausau… You were so generous to take me to the Niagara Falls, I'd like to retreebuit somehow."

"Ya'd like ta what?"

"Retree… You know… Rretribruir… Give back, in return for something?" She paused just a second, recovering from the linguistic blunder, before continuing. "Well, anyway, I thought you might want to have a break from driving. So, I'd like to suggest stopping for a couple of days near New York. In Newark, to be exact."

Creed laid back on the bench and crossed his arms, giving the kid room to continue, which she promptly took advantage of.

"I know some people who lived in Newark for sometime, as immigrants, so I know a few things about de Portuguese community dere. I'm sure I could get us a nice hotel wid great food and wine, and not to mention dere's a wonderful open air market wid everything from cheese and greens to rabbits and chicken, freshly killed on the spot. I could even take de chance to buy some typical Portuguese ingredients to prepare you some wonderful dishes I'm almost sure you'd like. And all de while you could rest a little from driving before de final stretch."

Creed grinned. He was going to say no for the simple fact she had presumed to say he was tired. True, he was tired and the last thing he felt like was to spend some three or four days on the road, but he was still that close to saying no. Her hopeful shining eyes were particularly begging for a big, flat 'no', and his grin even grew slightly wider as he imagined her disappointment.

Problem was, a 'no' would get the girl down, which would then ruin all his previous efforts to lighten her mood up and make her feel she wasn't as much a prisoner as she truly was. Even the stop at Niagara, it had all been with the intention of creating an illusion of freedom. Well, a relative freedom, for as long as she had his protection. Now she wanted to go to Newark and was actually making an effort of turning it into a pleasing prospect for him. A 'no' would tell her she was a slave to his wishes. Which, to say the truth, she was, but he didn't want to remind her of that. She'd probably kill herself just to spite him! So Creed decided to swallow down his own preferences for this single time alone.

"Fine. But ya better find a nice hotel all on yer own real fast, and whatever restaurant ya choose has better be good, or ya'll be payin' fer it all yerself."

Her present happiness had better keep her from getting suicidal again for years to come, Creed swore to himself, or he was going to get really pissed at the whole thing.

"Com'on, it's time ta get movin'. I wanna get ta New York today."

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Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	6. The Wedding

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 6**

**The Wedding**

There's a baby yellin' its lungs out behind me, and a gang o' women's cooin' the lil' critter inta yellin' higher. Ta my left, three kids are wrestlin' 'round a table fer ten people, havin' already toppled the two wine glasses on it, while tryin' ta catch one another. In front o' me, there's two fat old women, their faces red from too much wine, hoppin' 'round with one another like two pigs, pretendin' ta be dancin' to a stupid foreign popular song. Behind them, there's tens o' people hoppin' 'round just in the same way.

There's a bump in my chair and my hand shots out, claws already bared, to the gigglin' piggy tailed brat who spent two hours yappin' 'bout the big-bad-giant-sittin'-at-the-table. Unfortunately for me, somebody lifted her up just in time and I didn't get ta snap her neck.

What am I doing here?

This is all Irbis fault. I'm gonna snap HER neck the moment I gets my hands on her. That's what I gonna do. And where is she anyways? The baby behind me is startin' ta yell again. I didn't even notice it stoppin', and it's already squealin' like crazy. I'm getting' a headache and I'm gonna kill them all fer it.

Why did I come ta Newark? Why?

There's a lil' voice in my head sayin' it's my fault, that I wanted her ta feel free and pleased so she wouldn't get suicidal again, but I throttle it: I know full well it's Irbis's fault. She's the one who tricked me inta comin' here. Yeah, that's what happened. She tricked me inta goin' 'round the country ta see the blasted sights and Falls and what not, an' she tricked me inta comin' here. I knew I shoulda gone straight ta Wausau from New York, I knew it! But the girl just had ta come ta Newark an' get some crappy Portuguese smoked meat and some shitty Portuguese wine. I don't even like this crap they call wine. Hell, I don't even like wine. I like beer! That's what I like: beer. And that does it. I gulp down the rest o' the red stuff in my glass and call fer the waiter. He don't take long: good fer him.

"Another bottle of wine?"

"Wine? Ya call this crap wine? It tastes like shit and I wanna proper BEER. Got it? Now get movin'"

He frowns and I almost wish he starts yappin' so I can have an excuse ta end this hellish party once an' fer all. But he holds his breath, grabs the two empty wine bottles and leaves.

Everythin' was goin' so well and smoothly. I got ta New York, delivered the hard disk, got paid… nice and smooth. And then Newark. After all, how bad could it be? Serves me right ta let the girl run the show. And is she gonna pay fer it! I got her ta Newark, I found her the Portuguese community... and how does she pay me back? She double-crosses me an' gets me ta bring her ta this blasted wedding! Oh, but is she gonna pay.

"Your beer, sir."

"'S about time."

I grab the two beers he brought and start drinkin'. The waiter disappears ta where he came from: goin' 'bout the room pesterin' people fer more orders, fillin' up empty glasses. Everybody's so cheerful and happy, it makes me wanna puke. At least there was no church ceremony! Well, there was, but Irbis didn't wanna attend. She was busy talkin' ta the musicians who was gonna play during the reception. And that's why I'm here. 'Cause I'm stupid! This guy she talked to 'bout buyin' some wine, he was havin' his daughter married the day after and offered ta sell off at a lower price any bottles that might survive the reception unscathed. I didn't wanna wait, but then the guy says I could come ta the two-day party without payin' fer nothin' and the girl just kept praisin' the wine like it was made o' gold.

Things were going so nice and smooth. And then I agreed. Free rooms fer two nights, free meals, a party from mornin' ta night, and cheaper wine, cheese and smoked meats of excellent quality. And I know they're o' quality 'cause I had plenty of it since mornin' till now. And that's somethin' else. I mean, I been to a few high profile wedding receptions: they're costly as hell, take all afternoon and night with live music, and give ya plenty o' pricey food. But that's fer the assholes who got their pockets full o' greenies, not fer the bums at the bottom o' the line. And that's what these folks are: I heard enough guys goin' 'bout talkin' o' the crisis and of how bad the businesses are, and how they're tight on payments fer this and that, and so on… and yet they go an' throw this!

First off, half the guests are foreigners who can't say a word in English. Who's the millionaire payin' fer their travellin' expenses? An' then they filled three tables o' light snacks and cakes fer breakfast, 'fore headin' out fer the church. People dressed up in the nicest dresses kept stuffin' their mouths while takin' turns goin' upstairs where the groom and bride were getting' ready fer photos: they lost two hours with that alone. Then the church. Irbis says they takes lil' kids in ta the church, and I don't even wanna think what it must've sounded like with all the babies these women sport 'round like trophies.

And then they took two more hours with more photos! You'd say they had had enough time fer that in the mornin'. But no! Good thing they had set a couple o' tables with hors-d'ouvres and drinks, otherwise there'd be people starvin'. And finally we got to the lunch: entries, soup, fish dish, meat dish, dessert, coffee an' drinks. These people eat like pigs, that's what it is; they probably starve all year long and only take their revenge at weddings, fillin' their plates like there's no tomorrow. And they had live music! First, it was just a CD playin' these cheeky love songs in a low volume. 'Course ya didn't listen to all that music, 'cause these so called civilized people kept bangin' the tables fer the just-married couple ta get up an' kiss! An' they did it over and over again. When they got tired of aimin' at the darned couple, they turned to their parents, then their best men and their ladies of honour, and their god-parents, and their great-parents, and their uncles, and random engaged couples, and random recently married couples, random old-timers… if the meal had taken a bit longer, they'd have started a darned orgy!

I was already havin' a major headache when the house band arrived. And I was just startin' dessert. I saw them people wolf down their ice-creams and attack their coffees an' drinks, and then flock ta the dancin' floor without even glancin' at the bride. Older couples and kids were the first, an' the younger ones came little by little. By the time I was finished, they was all bangin' 'bout like crazy – women draggin' men to dance, or dancin' with other women, kids hoppin' among them an' climbin' ta jump up and down next ta the band… They only stopped fer the couple's first dance. It was a waltz – everybody made a big circle and left the couple dancin' in the middle, alone at first. Then their parents joined in an' the music gained speed; and everybody else joined in too. Waiters cleaned the tables and lined a whole bunch o' them next to a wall, while the others were pulled back so that the dancin' floor became much bigger.

And all the while Irbis swung in her seat to the rhythm o' the music. I got to admit, though, I've never seen the kid so smiley. She's been positively shinin' with happiness, chattin' in Portuguese with anyone at her side, cooin' the babies and their yellin'… A lil' while after the waltz, they stopped the normal songs, both the cheeky Brian Adams and what not, and the bearable Rod Stewarts and Joe Cockers and similar. Then this bunch o' guests started dancin' some folk dances with this really bad music; I mean, it might have been rhythmic and full o' movement, but… was it bad! And the kid, Irbis, she just up an' goes to the round, flarin' the skirt an' snappin' her fingers 'bove her head. Bad taste. Very bad taste.

Next, a couple old timer guy got some type o' traditional guitars, which are round almost like banjos, 'though not quite, and with the double number o' strings o' normal guitars. Then the bride's mother got up an' started singin'. Ya know how there's that cartoon twerp called Asterix who says "these Romans are nuts"? Yeah, well, he should say "Portuguese are nuts", instead. I mean, they's at a weddin', they've been playin' some traditional stuff which was horrifyin' but which at least was cheerful; and then they stop it all an' start playin' sad tunes! Just how nuts can ya get? And all 'round, people was just quiet like mice, and hushin' they're kids, an' smillin' like dummies with tear-filled eyes, an' some even cryin'. If that ain't nuts, I don't know what is. It's a weddin', fer cryin' out loud! And they goes 'bout singin' o' death, and unhappiness, an' loss, an' pain…

At least, Irbis finally showed sense enough ta be upset at the whole stupidity and left the room the moment the music started. I lost track o' her after that. They been playin' Portuguese folk music fer a while now, and I can't see her nowhere. And boy, have I got a headache!

"Wouldn't you like to dance Mr. Creed?"

I growl. My headache's so bad I didn't sniff her comin'. If looks could kill she'd be screamin' in agony on the floor 'bout now, an' she knows it. She stifles her broad smile, bites her lip and sits down next ta me.

"I suppose you're not enjoying de party."

"Oh, ya can tell, can ya?"

I can feel the growling accompanying the words. She squirms uncomfortably on the chair, blushes slightly and manages to ask:

"Don't you know how to dance?"

"What?? Do I look like some asshole who can't move 'bout? 'Course I can dance! What kind o' stupid moron CAN'T dance?"

She squirms some more and glances about, her cheeks as red as they can get. Oh, I am so gonna snap her neck. Can't dance!

"Den…" She hesitates as I shoot her a vicious glare. "I… I thought… since you CAN dance… would you like to come and dance?"

I feel my claws just shoot out o' their own accord. It's a miracle I haven't started killin' nobody yet.

"I can get you some more drinks, if you prefer," she speaks very fast in a vain attempt to sooth me, "or I can go dance wid you, if you're tired of sitting down… Or we can leave, if you really can't have fun here…"

Her eyes are beggin' fer stayin' a bit longer. And they are almost the last straw that makes me get up and walk away. But I hold myself down. First, I'm gonna teach this brat just who can't dance. There's still a Portuguese tune playin', fast paced and playful. It's a very easy rhythm ta dance, even if it ain't very common this side o' the Atlantic. I clench her slender wrist in my hand and pull her close ta me.

"We gonna dance."

-----------------------------------------------

I glance at my watch and check the time. It's 8.42. The tables lined up near one wall are still bein' attacked by the guests; they've been under attack ever since the band stopped 'round 8. I watch 'em. They hold a plate an' go hoppin' from table ta table, takin' a bit from here, a bit from there… How much money must this cost? After all the food at breakfast, and all the hors-d'ouevres, and all the food at lunch, they still keep bringin' more food. They've got a table finely decorated with shrimp and crab, two tables with several types o' meat, one table with artistic baskets an' plates o' sliced fruits, two tables with cakes, an' puddings, and all sorts o' sweets… Not ta mention the waiters goin' 'bout talkin' people inta tryin' some soup.

Irbis's in their middle. She seems ta have fun with this. She planned her attack while sittin' with me – first some soup, then all the meats she could pile in a plate plus shrimps on a second plate. After that, fruits, cakes, more fruits, and a bit of every sweet in the place. Just ta check 'em out, she assured me. Later at night she'll have some more fruit and only those cakes and sweets she's noted down as the best. I asked how could she eat so much an' she looked at me like I had just said the most outrageous thing on earth and stated what apparently was obvious: ya have ta eat enough ta keep ya dancin' all night long. Right.

Well, but at least she fetched meat and shrimp piles fer me too. And now she's fetchin' herself some fruit an' sweets, since I'm already eatin' mine, which she got me first.

The band's returnin'. Irbis's actually a good dancer: particularly with the Latin American Salsas, Mangos, Tangos and what not. Dances 'em like a pro. She quickly got in rhythm with me and we danced fer a couple of hours, till the band stopped. Well, maybe not all the time; we skipped all the slow songs, which weren't that many, anyways. She says she can't dance slow songs. As if! Am I supposed ta believe that somebody who dances as well as she does can't dance a slow? You don't even have ta know how ta dance ta dance a slow. Ah, who cares? It ain't like I'm a slow fan, either. But I've drunk, and eaten, an' danced enough fer one day. 'Course these people think differently, 'cause they're still wolfin' down food and are once more flockin' up ta the dance floor as if they haven't danced yet. It probably helps that they've switched from their nice shoes ta trainers and slippers. Even the bride and groom: the moment the photos were done, they got off their shoes and on they got trainers, white fer her, black fer him. Yet, the bride didn't go change inta comfortable clothes, and's gettin' her white an' blue dress all dirty. She keeps dancin' an' steppin' on the ball-sized skirt, an' the other dancers trippin' an' steppin' on it too. Why don't she just gets changed?

Oh, great, they're playin' the train song again! It gives me goose bumps ta hear this thing: it almost has the rhythm of children songs, and people hold each others' hands and go hoppin' through the room, grabbin' random people next ta them and draggin' 'em inta the dance. I almost had ta kill somebody last time they played this: an old white haired woman who didn't speak English was determined ta drag me in. Good thing Irbis got to her first and took her away with the train o' dancin' people, or there would've been blood spilt.

I'm startin' ta understand their babblin', too. It ain't really that hard if they don't speak too fast; it's actually very close ta Spanish. I decided not ta let Irbis notice it, though; that way I can check on what she's lettin' out while talkin' ta her pals. An' speak o' the devil, here she comes, her feet movin' ta the sound o' the train song. How a nice girl like her can have such a bad taste fer music, is just somethin' I can't understand.

She eats like all the rest, in a hurry. Once she's done, there's old rock'n'roll songs playin' an' she looks at me with an eager look.

"Shall we dance some more?"

I turn her down and enjoy the pout that shows up the moment her smile vanishes. Then she gets ta sighing, while movin' her body to the 'rock around the clock's playful rhythm. After a while she gets up.

"Well, I'll go dance alone, den."

"These ain't no disco songs ya can dance on yer own. Ya need a partner."

She stifled a giggle and insisted she didn't; then she took off. And she doesn't, really, not the way she moves ta the sound o' La Bamba. Her slender waist's made smaller by the red sash, and her hips seem rounder as the white dress alternately flares and clings ta her body. The dress is reminiscent o' the fifties: a very light white fabric, with a bright red sash and several under skirts o' the same fabric but in red, which come down ta her knees and fly 'round with every shake and turn o' her hips. The top's very tight, makin' her boobs look bigger than they are, and it's white, except fer the bright red straps that wrap her upper arms while showing off her bare shoulders. Her hair's done up in a bun with a silver net, showin' off her perfect neck which sports just a diminutive red silk bow.

She puts a hand on her belly as if on a guy's back, raises her other hand as if holdin' her invisible guy's hand, and moves perfectly in time ta the beat. Damnit, she looks good! I got to admit: she dances perfectly. Even if she does look silly dancin' on her… What the hell! Who does she think she's dancin' with? Where did that bastard come from? I get up and reach 'em in a split second.

"Hey, dickhead! The lady's with me, so get off!"

Irbis's frownin' and the guy gingerly steps away. There's people starin' an' frownin', even if they don't stop their dancin'. I put my hand round Irbis' waist ta start dancin', but she don't move.

"Why did you do dat? You said you didn't want to dance, so I discovered somebody else to dance. You have no business stopping us."

I'm growlin' again. We standin' in the middle o' the dancin' floor an' everybody's twirlin' 'round us listenin' in. An' she's tryin' ta give me lip!

"Ya're here with ME, girl. Ya don't dance with nobody else but ME! Are we clear?"

She sets her jaw and trembles lightly. There's a sudden shimmerin' in her eyes. She breathes in, holds her breath fer a sec and blurts out in a pissed whisper.

"Den I dance alone." She continues when I start growlin'. "If you didn't want to dance wid me before, I'm sure you don't want to dance now. And if I… forced you to get up and do dis sacrifice because I accepted to dance wid dat boy, den I'll dance alone and you won't have to boder dancing against your will."

Her lips are tremblin', but her eyes are burnin' with indignation. I can't keep myself from grinnin' with satisfaction: I knew she'd be good sport the moment she got the hang o' havin' fun again.

"Ya're dancin' with me."

'Fore she can say somethin' else, I put my arm round her an' lift her up. Then I start dancin'. After yet another song, I let her down. She's still sulkin', though, an' marches straight up ta the table. I join her and immediately repent it.

"You have no right." I roll my eyes at the sound o' her voice. "I'm not your date, here. And even if I were! Even if we were married! You don't want to dance, I'm free to discover some guy to dance wid me. You had no right to do dis."

"Put a lid on already! Ya pestered my head ta bring ya here, ya pestered my head ta stay here, then ya pestered my head ta dance with ya, and now ya pesterin' me 'cause I did go an' dance? Ya should be thankin' me fer savin' ya from that twerp. He can't dance ta save his life!"

"You said you didn't want to dance!"

"I changed my mind."

She storms out o' the chair and I lose her in the middle o' the dancin' folks. She better not try ta piss me off no more. Such a nice party, an' there she has ta go an' ruin it all!

----------------------------------------

It's 9.35 and everybody's laughin' and yappin' 'round the cake table. The couple's been cuttin' it fer a while now, and waiters go 'bout offerin' champagne. I took a bottle and a glass from one o' the geeks. When Irbis finally gets back from her hidin' hole, she can go fetch her own glass and her own bottle, fer all I care. Gone off an' left me here with nobody ta dance with! I should go after her an' give her good reason fer sulkin', that's what I should do, but she ain't even worth the trouble.

The bottle's nearly finished, anyways. Where is she? People are startin' ta move back ta the dance floor. When the hell is this reception supposed ta end? Oh, how sweet! The groom's gonna dedicate a music fer his lil' darlin'… I'm gonna be sick. But then I sees her. At the other end o' the room, near the door. She looks real down, leanin' on the wall an' lookin' at the dancin' people. I get up. I got this idea ta rub some salt on whatever wound's hurtin' her. Teach her ta dump me in the middle of a dance.

She sees me but ignores my presence. I keep a straight face.

"So, ready ta leave?"

She sighs with a dejected expression.

"It's too early. It'll look bad if we leave. As if we're not enjoying."

"Well, ya sure look like ya ain't enjoyin' it no more."

She sighs an' her lip trembles; all of a sudden, her eyes get all shiny and watery. This is just great! Now she's gonna start cryin'. Why's she insistin' on ruinin' my night? Now I can't even put her down without her breakin' down an' makin' a spectacle in front of everybody. Ain't she supposed ta have gotten a bit o' spirit back inta her? I look away; give her some time ta pull herself together. The guy's stopped talkin' an' the band starts playin' Tom Waits's 'Tom Traubert's Blues'. I suppose that the fact the chorus is 'Waltzin' Matilda', they're seein' it as some kind o' tribute to the bride, who's name's Matilda. 'Course, on the other hand, they're just plainly ignorin' the fact that the song's about a drunkard and that 'waltzin' Matilda' is Aussie fer goin' off ta the outback with yer blanket. Matilda bein' the blanket. Some tribute ta the woman! But, hey, it's their weddin'. They can call themselves whatever they want.

"I love dis music."

"Huh?" She still looks down, but she don't seems as close ta tears.

"I… I forgot."

"What?" She seems a bit more composed now, not leanin' anymore.

"I forgot. For a moment… it was like I was… I was home… But I'm not. I'm not."

_"waltzing Matilda… waltzing Matilda…"_

I don't say nothin' and listen ta the music. The guy who's singin' actually seems ta sound a bit like Rod Stewart, who made Tom Waits's song famous all 'round. Not much, just a little. The bride an' groom are dancin' in the middle o' the dancin' floor and a whole bunch o' couples are dancin' 'round 'em, in a circle.

_"I'm an innocent victim_

_of a blinded alley "_

I notice her movement, but when I look she's already dancin' at the edge o' the dancin' floor. Her eyes are closed, but she's too far away from people to worry 'bout bumpin' inta somebody. She keeps a hand on her belly and an arm in the air as if she were leanin' on an invisible lover an' slowly rocks to an' fro. I'm amazed that somebody who dances salsa an' mango so expertly can dance a slow like she's got lead feet. What's she doin'?

_"And my strength is soaking away_

_To go…"_

A guy comes up to her, no doubt ta dance with her, and I move in to the kill. Fortunately fer him, though, she sends him away and goes on dancin' with her eyes closed. She don't notices me even though I'm standin' right next ta her. I almost pull back from the dance floor, but I'm already under everybody's eye so I holds my ground. Even if I hate slow music, I really don't got much of a choice right now. Slowly, I reach an arm 'round Irbis's waist an' feel her shudder in surprise. She opens her eyes as I take her raised hand in my own.

_"I begged you to stab me"_

"I thought ya didn't know how ta dance a slow?"

_"You tore my shirt open"_

Her lip trembles and her voice comes very low, her eyes locked on mine.

"I can't." As if I hadn't noticed. "I thought you didn't like to dance slows."

_"And I'm down on my knees tonight"_

"There's worse things ta do."

_"You buried the dagger  
Your silhouette window light"_

I feel her shudder again an' she looks away. Now I'm sure she ain't gettin' no wrong ideas 'bout me dancin' this.

_"No I don't want your sympathy"_

Why am I here? She starts cryin' on me and I'll kick her butt, I swear. I can smell a slight scent o' fear comin' from her, which pisses me off, but then I feel her whole body relax in my arms. Yet I can still smell her fear. Why's she so relaxed if she's 'fraid? And what's she scared of?

_"Go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda_

_You'll go waltzing Matilda with me"_

She leans on my chest, the top o' her head brushing 'gainst my chin, an' the scent o' fear hits me harder. I ain't sure o' what ta do: what's she scared of if it ain't me? I can't think o' nothin', yet… it can't be me she's 'fraid of… not the way she keeps leanin' on… can it?

_"And a wound that would never heal"_

She's completely relaxed, her whole frame restin' on me. I look 'round, but no one's seein' us as they's all watchin' the bride and groom suckin' face. Her hand is holdin' on t'my arm… she ain't clingin' on ta me, and still it feels as if she is. It feels as if she'd break inta a million pieces if I were ta stop supportin' her. I can feel her warm breath through my shirt when she exhales hard and it's like there's an electric current goin' through me. But then her body shakes lightly fer a moment, and I feel myself freezin'. Is she cryin' on me?

The thick scent o' her fear becomes stronger and all the while she leans harder on me. What's she afraid of? Her whole frame is shudderin' as if she were cold... or very scared. I look down at her. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like she's holdin' on ta me fer safety. My arms hold her tighter o' their own accord, and I can't figure her out. The only thin' could be frightenin' her is me. Me. Why is she…

_"And it's goodnight to the street-sweepers,_

_The night watchmen flame-keepers"_

As I holds her tight, her warm breath keeps stingin' my skin through the shirt and the scent o' her fear an' tears keeps intoxicatin' me. Then she looks up at me as the song comes ta its end.

_"And it's goodnight to the street-sweepers,_

_The night watchmen flame-keepers"_

Her eyes are shinin' with tears, but deadly serious and eerily trustin' as she looks directly at me. No shudderin', no tremblin', no fear. Not in her posture or expression, at least, 'cause her fear still clings ta the air 'round her like an exotic perfume. But it's only a moment an' she promptly returns ta my protective embrace. But protective from what?

_"And goodnight Matilda too"_

_"Goodnight Matilda too"_

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